


You Make A Mess Of Me

by rnadison



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: "madison it's september" idc, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship, Set between s1 and s2, just sam trying to be the Best Boyfriend for valentine's !!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 18:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnadison/pseuds/rnadison
Summary: If you wanted to get technical about it, Sam had always spent Valentine’s with Peter — either playing video games, or watching those weird artsy movies that Peter likes. Maybe a pizza or two, with periodical checking of socials to see how Valentine’s was going for everyone. Anti-Valentine’s Day, they called it.But now, as the harsh winter days edge towards the 14th, Sam squirms at the thought of Valentine’s Day. God. Their first, official Valentine’s Day. Last year’s had been particularly torturous, because the tiniest -- and he means the tiniest -- buddings of a crush had already been forming, which sent him into a spiral of despair for half the month. But even then, he’d been struggling same question that mocks him now: what do I get Peter?





	You Make A Mess Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a god damn minute since I've posted. But I'm back along with the boys wooo weeee

If you wanted to get technical about it, Sam had always spent Valentine’s with Peter — either playing video games, or watching those weird artsy movies that Peter likes. Maybe a pizza or two, with periodical checking of socials to see how Valentine’s was going for everyone. Anti-Valentine’s Day, they called it.

But now, as the harsh winter days edge towards the 14th, Sam squirms at the thought of Valentine’s Day. God. Their first, official Valentine’s Day. Last year’s had been particularly torturous, because the tiniest -- and he means the _tiniest --_ buddings of a crush had already been forming, which sent him into a spiral of despair for half the month. But even then, he’d been struggling same question that mocks him now: _what do I get Peter?_

It shouldn’t be this hard. Sam knows Peter better than anyone, sometimes more than Peter himself. But now they’re a _thing_ , a capital C _Couple_. So it should be special this year. It should be, like, Brandon Galloway and Gabi Granger special --  candles and rose petals kind of special.

So when a Valentine’s commercial flashes by on the TV, Sam can’t help but glance at Peter, who’s on his phone (no doubt reading the constant influx of comments and DMs on their joint Instagram). Peter is … weird when it comes to couple-y things. It’s already taken Sam a good four months to warm him up to PDA, and even then the P stands for _private._ Peter is, surprisingly, the most obnoxious cuddle octopus once they're tucked safely away in his bedroom. But handholding in the hallways of Hanover High? Forget it. And Sam supposes he can’t really blame him.

“Look,” Peter suddenly says, and Sam looks up with an eloquent “Uh.” Peter leans in on the couch, tilting his phone screen. “Someone still thinks Mackenzie did it. They’ve been DMing us for, like, three weeks now.”

“Wow, that’s -- that’s wild. Are you gonna reply?”

“Nah, it’s best to not engage with anyone.”

A few moments pass. Peter’s still leaning on his elbow, the tip of his tongue poking out as he continues to scroll.

Sam takes a breath, then: “Peter?”

“Hm?”

“About … Valentine’s Day.”

He looks up at him. “What about it?”

“Are we g -- do you want anything?”

There, he’d said it; he can feel crimson rushing to his face as Peter sits up, the sleeves of his hoodie draped over his hands. A look of concern flits over his face. “Why?”

 _Why?_ Only Peter Maldonado could ask _why_ to a question like this. “Because -- well, I’ve got someone to spend the day with, finally, and ---”

“We always spend Valentine’s together --”

“And we’re a _couple_ now,” Sam finishes slowly, raising his eyebrows. “Peter, I’m pretty sure even the couples in your weird movies do stuff with each other for Valentine’s.”

Peter gives a grunt of acquiescence as he falls back into the cushions. “It’s not a big deal to me,” he finally says. “To be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d forget, because I don’t want you spending money -- or time -- on me.”

The sentiment is so sweet that he can actually feel his heart hurting in his chest; Peter says the same kind of thing when it comes to his birthday. But now, Sam makes a noise of virulent disbelief. “Uh, hello?? That’s my job. Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Peter gives one of those noiseless little giggles. It’s no secret that Sam loves holidays, whether it’s Valentine’s, Halloween, Christmas,or -- even more special-- Peter’s birthday. Somewhere in the Maldonado residence are years’ worth of tapes of Sam’s meticulously organized surprise parties for Peter; somewhere in the Ecklund residence there are photos of his outrageous Halloween costumes over the years, followed by helping with the increasingly excessive Christmas decorating. Valentine’s with an actual _Valentine_ would be no exception.

Peter presses up against his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t do something crazy on the fourteenth.”

“Mhm.”

“Saaaam.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“That can just be your present, you know. Promising not to do anything.”

Sam turns the TV back up. “Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

* * *

 

It has to be incredible. That’s his only criteria. Something that Peter, and only Peter, would love. Something that’s their relationship in a nutshell.

_But what to do, what to do …_

He needs advice, and this time he obviously can’t go to Peter about it. So he decides on the next best thing.

“Gabi,” he says when she picks up. He’s standing in the floral section at Kroger’s, really debating if he’s about to be _boring_ and _traditional._ “What kind of stuff do you do for Valentine’s Day?”

“Uh --- for Peter?”

“No, my other geek boyfriend.”

If she were here right now with him, he’s almost positive she’d be rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’s _Brandon Galloway._ Even douchebags do something on Valentine’s.”

“Hey, watch it there, Casanova. But I really don’t know. Usually he does all the planning. Last year he surprised me with flowers and dinner, and the year before that was flowers and a card.”

Sam deflates. “So … flowers.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, I know, just ... “ he makes a vague gesture in front of the red carnations. “I wanted something …”

“... Big,” she finishes with him. Then, she sighs. “Oh, Sam, it’s just Peter. He’ll love anything you get him. You could give him a heart drawn on a sticky note and he’d keep it forever, just because it’s from you.”

He has to give her that one. “Okay,” he smiles. “Thanks, Gabi.”

“Anytime, soldier.”

* * *

 

Time for the second person-who-isn’t-Peter that could give sometimes alright advice. He’s been in a long term relationship --- and yeah, they’d broken up --- but he’s gotta know what to do, right?

“Dylan! Hey.”

“Oh hey, my man! What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing, just, you know, Valentine’s is coming up …”

“Oh, shit, dude. You know what you’re getting Pete?”

“No, I don’t. I was kinda hoping you’d tell me.”

There’s a pause. “I mean, I dunno.”

“Well, what did you and Mackenzie do?”

He can _hear_ Dylan’s grin over the phone.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Unhelpful.”

“C’mon, you can’t, like, _not_ have sex on Valentine’s. It’s tradition or some shit.”

Sam bites his lip, one arm tucked under his elbow as he plants himself in front of the white lilies. Sure, they fooled around -- what couple didn’t, really -- but they hadn’t gone … all the way yet. And honestly, it scares him. He wants it to be perfect, just like this Valentine’s Day. And, yeah, he loves planning events and holidays, but God, a 2-in-1? He’s not a miracle worker.

“I don’t know, it’s just not very … us. I want this Valentine’s to be special.”

“It could be real special if you tried hard enough.”

“Is there really _no_ other alternative?”

“Seriously, just be out there waiting for him --”

“God --”

“Scatter some rose petals --”

“Dylan -- ”

“Light some candles --”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Sam’s going red just _picturing_ it, and Dylan laughs.

“Fine, alright. So if you guys aren’t gonna fuck, what are you planning on doing?”

“That’s the thing. Peter told me he didn’t want me to spend a ton of money or time on him.”

Dylan laughs again. “Man, that is so him. He said the same thing when I wanted to get him something ‘cause of, y’know, the doc. But that’s just Pete. Nothing you can do about it.”

“But I …”

“Listen, Sam. I know you want, like, some big, special thing, right? Right? I mean, who wouldn't. True love and shit. You guys are fucking disgusting, by the way. All your goo goo posts on Insta --”

“Dylan.”

“But, uh … yeah, anyway, what I’m saying is, Pete’s got you, yanno? I know this sounds gay or whatever, but like, he doesn’t need anything else.”

Something shifts inside Sam. Maybe Dylan’s right -- a big Valentine’s present just isn’t them. Their relationship is small,and private, and as much as he complains about Peter not kissing him in the morning before first period, he likes it that way. It’s made up for in secret smiles and inside jokes; Peter’s hand on the small of his back when Sam’s upset; the lazy smile he’s greeted with when he’s coming out of the throes of an after-school nap. For the first time, holiday-wise, bigger does not equal better.

“Yo, Sam. You still there?”

“Sorry, yeah.  Never thought I’d be saying this, but, uh … thanks, Dylan.”

“For what?”

“Telling me what to get him.”

* * *

 

“I told you nothing big,” is Peter’s response when he opens the door.

“What??” Sam gives an indignant huff, glancing down at the plastic-wrapped roses in his arms. “This is _only_ the biggest count bouquet at Kroger’s.” He holds it out, the card sticking out of the top. “C’mon. Let me do this _one_ thing for you. Please?”

Peter gives a sigh, but the corners of his mouth are twitching up. The plastic crinkles as it shifts hands, and Sam finally allows his stomach to unclench and, furthermore, himself to toe off his sneakers in the foyer. When he looks up again, Peter’s ears are as pink as the rose petals. “What?”

“I’ve just -- I’ve never gotten flowers before.”

“Aw, I’m glad I’m your first.” He gestures to the card. “You gonna read the card?”

The truth is, he’s balls to the wall nervous about Peter reading the card. The outside is all fine and dandy, just a cute, simple, minimalistic design he knew he’d like. But the inside message has been carefully drafted countless times in the Notes folder in Sam’s phone, before being transcribed into his untidy scrawl.

_Happy Valentine’s, you absolute dork. I know you said not to get anything, but I did anyway, ‘cause that’s what good boyfriends do. Hope you love the flowers as much as I love you. Sam._

Sam had paused before he’d written that last part; they haven’t said the big L word yet. He’d even considered calling Gabi again, but then, she’d probably tell him to just fuck it and write it anyway, so that’s what he did. And now Peter’s looking up at him with wide eyes, and Sam’s getting that clenching feeling back in his stomach, like he’s missed a step going down the stairs.

“I, uh -- I know it’s not Shakespeare, or anything ---”

“No, it’s perfect,” Peter says quickly. “I do love them as much as I … love you.”

And Sam swears his heart actually skips a beat when Peter says that. 

He leans against the dining room table with wobbly arms, laden with relief. He'd written that last night in pen, and had spent the better part of the day worrying that he'd gone overboard. That he'd given Peter something  _too big._ "God, you scared the shit out of me." 

Now it's Peter's turn to look bewildered. "What?" 

"I don't know, I thought you weren't gonna --- I thought maybe you'd feel like I was rushing you, or something ---" Sam drops his head into his arms, followed by a long, sustained, _proper_ sigh of relief. 

Peter leaves the card upright next to the flowers and leans on his elbows next to his pitiful boyfriend. "Were you really scared I wasn't gonna say it back?" 

Sam's head shoots up from his arms. "Well, yeah! I know it's not, like, your thing or whatever, but I've been ready to say it for a long time and I just wasn't --" He stops when he hears the unmistakable sound of Peter Maldonado _laughing_ at him, nay,  _giggling_ like the cute son of a bitch he is. " _What?"_

"Nothing," Peter smiles. "You're cute when you're all frazzled like this. Especially over something like this." 

Sam only gives a playful roll of his eyes, followed by a mock pout. But, he leans forward and kisses his cheek, then presses a kiss to his lips.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Petey.”

“You too, Sammy.”

 So they'll head to Peter's room. They'll watch the list of indie classics that Sam's prepared for tonight, and afterwards Peter will rave about the production quality and color palette or whatever, and Sam will be left thoroughly mystified. They'll end up making out, and Peter will have to stop halfway through to shut his bedroom door like he always does. Sam will stay the night and Peter will morph into the cuddle octopus and not relinquish his grip until the morning. They'll do what they always do, because Dylan and Gabi had been right. Peter doesn't need anything else, and neither does Sam, for that matter. And that's the best gift Sam can give. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on tumblr @ connorsquarter!


End file.
